


Arthur's Answer to Bad Days and Bad Jobs

by slashmania



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur buys Meriwether of Montana products, Coffee mugs, Inappropriate Humor, Journals, Let no one say Arthur lacks a sense of humor, M/M, You Have Been Warned, lots of mentions of a handjob that doesn't really happen during the story, maybe? - Freeform, sarcastic sayings are such an Arthur thing, so much swearing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 12:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmania/pseuds/slashmania
Summary: Bearing his 'This Meeting is Bullshit' mug, he'd then fetched his 'People I Want To Punch In The Face' journal and joined the half-circle of chairs arranged in front of a white board. Arthur was in such a good mood, he didn't care that his team was staring at his unopened journal or at his full mug of coffee.





	Arthur's Answer to Bad Days and Bad Jobs

**Author's Note:**

> A.N: So I had a tough week and can't finish a chapter for either of my works in progress. While I was busy standing in line for over twenty minutes to buy textbooks at my college bookstore, I noticed a journal sitting on a rack. It was bright orange and had the words "Life isn't always cupcakes and handjobs" on the front. 
> 
> The thought of Arthur using that journal to take notes for a job put the metaphorical bounce back in my step and allowed me to limp my way along in line and eventually get the hell out. And so this fic was born. This is ridiculous, it's not quite as ridiculous as Arthur finding Excalibur or Arthur being the grandson of Mary Poppins, but I can't stop myself now.
> 
> Disclaimer: I actually don't own Meriwether of Montana products. But after looking at a bunch of images of mugs, tumblers, and journals for this fic, I probably should consider buying some because they make me smile. I hope everyone else smiles too!

When Arthur was having a not so amazing day, he had a ritual. Or maybe a habit, a practice, a little something he'd do to brighten up his day.

When Arthur wasn't having a wonderful day, he left his usual Moleskine behind and brought a journal; sometimes brightly colored, but always bearing a phrase that he felt summed up what troubled him. And the phrases made him smile when he looked at them, nodding to himself that _that_ one was the right one for his bad day. Because there was no rule that said he had to work his way through a bad day and not smile once, even if he smiled when no one was looking, preserving his poise and control as a point man even if he used something other than his usual Moleskine to take notes about whatever job they were working on. Besides, it was rare for anyone to notice what the front cover of the journal said if he'd only left it flipped open to reveal lined paper.

Of course, there was usually a point where Arthur ceased to care about that. It was the metaphorical time where he was past the point of no return, when even imagining Gerard Butler singing the part of the Phantom didn't boost his mood.

Arthur had passed that point when after just one day on his latest job he learned that the extractor was likely to going to ignore all of his research, the chemist was questionable, and the architect was green. Oh, and Eames was working on the same job too; that first day Eames cheerfully smirked in Arthur's direction, shrugged as he also noticed the state of things, but Eames appeared to be at ease as long as there was Arthur, unimaginative and sane, to help him pull another mad job out of the fire.

So Arthur brought several of his Meriwether of Montana products to the warehouse because this job was going to be a war, and he'd get through it if he hunkered down with the things that he could use to break the funk of a stupid job, surrounded by tiring coworkers, and _Eames._ Arthur was going to manage it because he was a fucking professional, and he almost wished one of the mugs he brought with him said that, so he wouldn't have to say it out loud.

* * *

It was only 8 a.m. and he'd already fielded three stupid comments about stuff they'd already spoken about, leading to yet another group meeting. Arthur had already moved a few of his journals into the drawer of his desk, so he took a moment to select the one that had the message he knew was going to power him through this. Then he got one of his mugs out of the warehouse kitchenette so he could remain caffeinated through the unnecessary meeting, pouring the freshly brewed coffee and smiling when he looked at the message on the mug.

Bearing his _This Meeting is Bullshit_ mug, he'd then fetched his _People I Want To Punch In The Face_ journal and joined the half-circle of chairs arranged in front of a white board. Arthur was in such a good mood, he didn't care that his team was staring at his unopened journal or at his full mug of coffee.

Arthur set his coffee on a nearby flat surface, pulled a pen from the spiral binding of the journal, and opened it. He was ready to work even if Hal, the extractor was still busy staring at the mug. Hal wasn't squinting yet, but was getting close. Lee, the chemist and Ivy, the architect were content to stare at the mug, then Arthur, then back to Hal to see his reaction.

Eames was attempting to hold back laughter.

Arthur cleared his throat and didn't wait for questions about his mug or journal. He immediately addressed Hal, clicking his retractable pen and watching the man twitch at the noise.

"You said that you wanted another meeting so we could go over the mark's background information and possible tactics for the extraction?"

Eames couldn't hold back anymore- he actually leaned back in his chair and nearly _giggled_ over the situation; the mug and journal, Arthur's calm, and the reactions of the team, just _everything_.

* * *

"Am I one of the people you want to punch in the face?"

Arthur was sitting in front of his laptop, busy compiling more information on their mark because Hal seemed to think it was necessary. Not that Arthur wouldn't have been looking for additional information to confirm tricky things like militarization or family and medical histories. Hal just wanted to exert some of his power as head of the team, even if Arthur could care less.

"The jury is out on that one, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, pausing his typing long enough to nudge a snack tray of cookies towards the forger. "Please enjoy a cookie while you wait for the verdict."

Eames never could deny the offer of cookies from Arthur; they'd known each other long enough that Eames was aware that Arthur had hidden facets, he was deep, and even though he often teased the man for lacking imagination, it didn't change the fact that the point man was good at baking Eames's favorite cookies.

Arthur smiled to himself and watched Eames reach for one of the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. There weren't so many cookies on the tray that the printing was obscured; even Arthur could read where the snack tray said _H_ _ere's your snack, dumbass._

Eames stared at the printing as he took a bite of his cookie. Arthur wasn't sure if the man's smile was from the message on the snack tray or the cookies that Arthur had baked so they were soft in the middle, but crispy around the edges.

"Perfect as always, pet. And that sparrow is darling."

"Have another cookie, dumbass," Arthur replied, noticing that no one else was watching them be fucking adorable, so he took the chance and winked at the forger because he could.

* * *

Arthur walked into the warehouse with lunch for everyone, but paused when he walked past Eames's spot and noticed that he'd borrowed one of his mugs. Instead of saying anything about the forger borrowing one of his things, Arthur said, "Even though we're pressed for time between lunch and hooking up to the PASIV to test Ivy's build for the second level, I'm sure I could dig you a shallow grave for finishing the last of the coffee."

Eames was still sipping from Arthur's _Fuck You, Salad_ mug and stopped only to say, "First, I'm drinking tea. Second, you have a deep-seated hatred of salads, don't you? I mean, when I first saw you stabbing at your salad with a fork all those years ago, I thought that you'd just had a bad day. But this mug confirms it for me!"

"A shallow grave is calling your name," Arthur informed Eames handing him his lunch order first, because even though the other team members were behaving and working hard, it was so easy to give Eames preferential treatment for bantering.

"But would you really give me lunch if you planned to bury me?"

Arthur smiled. "I'm a nice guy," Arthur said as he turned to give the others their lunch. "After all, everyone deserves a last meal."

Hal, Ivy, and Lee paused as they reached for their food. It was only for a second, but when Arthur noticed their hesitance, he looked over his shoulder at Eames and shrugged. The forger had opened his container and was ready to eat even if the others were having second thoughts. He raised the borrowed mug, toasting Arthur.

* * *

Arthur didn't spend all of his time in the warehouse. He liked to go for a jog, taking his _I Wish Sarcasm Burned Calories_ water bottle with him, not caring that it was such an eye-catching shade of orange.

He liked getting a little time to himself because it was exhausting to deal with Hal or Ivy. Lee didn't bother him as much unless he needed Arthur to test the latest version of Somnacin, though each time he asked, the man looked a little frightened. Arthur would like to believe that it was just because the man had accidentally broken Arthur's _I Drink The Tears Of My Enemies_ mug.

Arthur liked to take the time he allotted for a daily jog to think about how he felt about the job; it was okay. It could be much, much worse. He thought that the silly Meriwether of Montana things were working as they usually did when he wasn't having a good day, or had to work an aggravating job.

But he also had to attribute his good mood to Eames's pleasant company. Even if the forger used his mugs without asking, Arthur didn't find it nearly as annoying as he thought he would. If it _did_ bother him, he could always suggest that Eames get his own. Then he spent his ten minute break not bothering to wipe away the smile on his face as he considered which one the forger would like best.

When he finally got back he found a brand new mug waiting for him on his desk; it had already been unwrapped from its packaging and all signs of the box and Styrofoam packing were out of sight. Arthur put his water bottle down and picked up the new mug that said  _Eye Roll Expert._

There was a post-it note pasted on the side of the mug. Curious, Arthur peeled the note off the side of his new mug and read, _I hope that this is a suitable replacement for your old mug; as you are the reigning king of rolling your eyes at my brilliance, I thought it would suit you well._

* * *

The job was completed without any hiccups or assassination attempts. Hal shook Arthur's hand, Lee timidly waved goodbye before running off, and Ivy gave Arthur the quickest flash of a smile before ducking her head down and rushing out.

Then there were two.

Eames was leaning against Arthur's desk. He looked at the carefully packed box of mugs, the stack of journals, and the PASIV, all arranged on top of the desk. He picked up one of the journals he hadn't seen Arthur use during the job.

" _Life isn't always cupcakes and handjobs,_ " Eames read aloud, raising his eyebrows and smirking at the point man.

Arthur nodded and zipped up his laptop case, then began to pack all the journals into his messenger bag. "That's the one I use when I'm having the worst day or working the most horrible job."

"So it's Inception grade?"

Arthur thought about it before agreeing. "Yes. It's either Inception grade or for when I've been shot. I hate being shot. So whenever I look at that journal, I smile just a little bit because it's so true. Life isn't always cupcakes and handjobs."

Eames was picking up Arthur's box of mugs and the messenger bag while Arthur put the strap of his laptop case over one shoulder and picked up the PASIV.

"Wise words to find on a journal, darling."

"Yes, they got me through the zero-gravity fight on my level of the Fischer job."

Eames followed Arthur out the warehouse door, ready to follow the point man wherever else he was headed.

"Definitely words to live by."

"Another good one is _Ambition- The Willingness To Kill Your Friends And Eat Them._ "

"I hope you haven't thought of eating me."

"I'm a little peckish," Arthur said, smiling as Eames waited for Arthur to close up the warehouse and lead the way.

Eames could have done the song and dance; the "let me take you to dinner, we'll do x, y, and z" pattern that they'd be familiar with. But they'd known each other for many years. They obviously liked each other enough to work together fairly regularly, had buckets of attraction, and even cared about each other. Arthur recalled the mug Eames bought him to replace the one that had been broken or how Arthur had baked something that was Eames's favorite, just because (and maybe a little bit because Arthur didn't have many reasons to break out the snack tray).

He wondered if it was so obvious all the time? If _they_ were so obvious all the time? Wouldn't it be better if they were upfront about feelings and expectations?

And then Arthur decided to do something about it. If he'd learned anything from his use of sarcastic mugs and journals, it was to face what troubled him, to feel better. Feeling lousy during a bad day was something he had a choice in rising above or defeating. He had a choice now because being lonely was a needless hurt, especially when there was someone eager to share their time with him, someone who made him smile.

"I think this far into our relationship we're past the point of me being _forward,_ really-"

"Come back to my place," Arthur said and interrupted Eames, aware that his ears were probably pink, because damn him for being from a family of easy blushers, damn him for remaining cool during banter about shallow graves and drinking the last of the coffee! But Arthur could be calm. He was an eye roll expert, after all. "You happen to be one of the people I don't want to punch in the face. No meeting with you has ever been bullshit. No matter how ambitious I am, I'll never be able to kill and eat you. I'll give you cookies without insulting you."

Eames smiled. "But do you say 'Fuck you' to your salad and drink the tears of your enemies?"

"I don't say 'Fuck you' to my salad, I _think_ it as I eat the salad. I don't like salad, even if it's healthy and the right choice for me when compared to other unhealthy options. I only drink the tears of my enemies metaphorically- you could say that watching an enemy screw up and get upset is _refreshing_ after all the years I spent working with Cobb and failing in many ridiculous ways because his shade of Mal liked to kill me."

"Your competence didn't stand a chance against Cobb's brand of guilt-ridden madness; that's why your competence works much better when paired with my brilliance. If it wasn't too soon, I would make another suggestion based off those Meriwether products you've just quoted. One that involved you, me, and suffering through monogamy together."

"Come back to my place, I'll make you a cupcake," Arthur said, not treating "cupcake" as a euphemism.

"You've been a saint during this job, darling. When we get to your place, you're getting a handjob."

Arthur placed one hand against his heart. "That's got to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Mr. Eames."

**Author's Note:**

> If you look up any of the products mentioned, you'll find a corresponding image to either a journal or a mug. Or a key chain in the case of "Fuck You, Salad."
> 
> Looking up those products on Google Images was the best hour I've had this week where I spent more time laughing than feeling bad. So I hope that there's enjoyment had by all.


End file.
